


Stupid, Careless, Perfect, Wonderful

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Series: Tales of a Dragon and His Prince [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Dragon Merlin (Merlin), First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit, Soft Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), They Are Both Very Dumb And In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: Merlin is beginning to hate his dragon instincts, just a little bit, because he's managed to keep his hopeless love for Arthur under control for the better part of these three years, and now…not so much.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Tales of a Dragon and His Prince [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737112
Comments: 25
Kudos: 869





	Stupid, Careless, Perfect, Wonderful

Merlin can't believe it, but he almost wishes that Arthur had been just a little less relaxed about discovering his heritage and all its inborn gifts. Of course, that doesn't mean he _wants_ to be tossed in the dungeon or flogged or whatever else penalty there is for simultaneously saving the crown prince's life whilst committing multiple acts of treason. But he could've done with at least a few thrown objects, some slammed doors, a few days of cold dismissal. Maybe that would've made it easier.

But he hadn't, and now Merlin is dealing with the downside of his own _stupid_ instincts.

He is the dragon and the dragon is him, but his instincts sometimes have a mind of their own. It's almost like those strange, random thoughts one has have been all melded together into a presence in the back of his mind, older and primal, him-but-not. He is beginning to hate them, just a little. Because he's managed to keep his worthless, useless, hopeless love for Arthur under control for the better part of these three years, and now…not so much.

His senses have sharpened a great deal, none more than his sense of smell, and Arthur always smells _good._ Even when he comes back from training, he smells of sweat, leather, churned earth, and healthy male, and Merlin wants to roll in it like a moggy in a bed of catmint. Sometimes he has to clench his fists so hard his nails cut into his palms to keep from running his hands through Arthur's hair, especially after he's had a bath and it's still all silken and fluffy and curling at the ends and smells like lavender.

It doesn't help, either, that despite his upbringing at the hands of that absolute _bastard,_ Arthur is so quietly, perfectly at ease with Merlin's magic. Even when he uses it for only the small things, like opening the window or lighting the fire, the prince will only smile a little, call him lazy with a playful bat at his head or arm. Sometimes he even asks for Merlin to use his magic for those 'lazy little things,' asking to heat his bathwater just the right way or to polish his maille because a prince can't look like some poor hedge knight, can he?

The only way he manages to keep them in check is by allowing himself small indulgences. Little things, stupid things. Before he makes Arthur's bed in the morning, he will lay on the rumpled sheets for a moment, sweeping his arms over the rich bedding. It leaves his scent behind, even if only his nose is strong enough to pick it up. Occasionally, one of the prince's tunics will go missing before reaching the laundresses' chamber, only to resurface in a few days. He takes a little longer than is entirely necessary to get Arthur in his armour or his court regalia, breathing in the warm smell of him, wanting to press closer, perhaps help get his clothes _off_ instead.

Stupid, stupid.

Careless.

It is hardly a surprise, then, that it is one such situation where it all finally falls apart.

"This colour suits you," Merlin remarks as he helps Arthur into his new winter jacket, freshly returned from the tailor.

"You think so?" Arthur peers down at himself critically. The thick cloth is dyed a rich hue of blue, the fastenings tooled in silver, with subtle embellishments of white and silver around the bottom hem and sleeves, the collar lined with soft white rabbit fur. It had been a gift from a visiting noble and fit a bit too loosely. The weather's still a bit warm to be wearing it regularly, but it doesn't hurt to make sure the garment actually does fit now that the tailor had taken it in and lined it better.

"Mm." He does up the fastenings, peering around to make sure it lays right against Arthur's frame. "Brings out your eyes." The prince looks better in blue than he does in red, even, which isn't the least bit fair.

Arthur stares at him a long moment, then nods. "Right. Well, it fits, now help me out of this before I overheat."

Smiling, Merlin undoes the buttons again, easing it back from his shoulders and setting it aside to be hung up again. He picks up Arthur's vest instead, the brown one he likes and has worn soft and faded over the years. "There you are," he murmurs. "Oh, wait. Here." He reaches around to straighten Arthur's collar, tugging the cloth straight and folding it back down. Leaning this close, he can still smell the lavender oil from Arthur's bath yesterday, see how each strand of his hair is gilded by the sun behind him. "There. Perfect." When Merlin leans back, he tilts his head and brushes a kiss over Arthur's full, soft mouth.

For a moment, the entire world seems to go still before it crashes back into sound and motion with a great, mortifying clamour.

Arthur is staring at him with wide eyes, having gone entirely still like a wary deer that's seen motion, lips parted in shock or perhaps disgust. Merlin takes a half step back, blood rushing up into his face and neck and ears in a scalding wave, and he presses a hand over his mouth in horror.

"I-I'm sorry, sire, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Merlin."

"I know I shouldn't have done that, I was only—"

_"Mer_ lin."

"I'll not do it again, I promise, I—"

_"Merlin!"_

Strong hands grab his arms and give him a sharp little shake, and he snaps his mouth shut immediately, waiting for Arthur's impending wrath. Except Arthur doesn't look particularly wrathful. There's a smile in the corners of his mouth, even, and he gentles his grip on Merlin's arms, thumbs rubbing gently over his biceps. "Settle. Calm. Breathe. _Breathe,_ Merlin," he repeats again, low and soft. After a heartbeat's pause, Arthur leans in and presses a soft kiss to his mouth. It's brief and so much of a shock that Merlin doesn't have time to respond before the prince draws away again, hands still on his arms. "I'd rather you did do that again," he murmurs, smiling.

Merlin opens his mouth and closes it a few times, noiseless.

"Words."

"I thought—you aren't—but I'm—"

Arthur sighs and takes a step closer to him, hands sliding down to grasp Merlin's hands in both of his own. "Try finishing one of those sentences."

Merlin thinks over his options for a moment, then tentatively ventures, "You aren't angry?"

"Do I _look_ angry to you?"

No, he doesn't. Arthur is like his father in that when he is angry, there is no mistaking him for absolutely anything else. He almost conjures his own thunderhead when he's in a temper. Right now, however, there's a hint of a grin teasing the corner of his mouth, and there's unexpected tenderness in his gaze. Alright, then. So, he's not about to be thrown in the stocks. However, when he opens his mouth, he finds he doesn't know what else to ask. "I don't understand," he says at last.

Arthur rolls his eyes skyward with a small sigh, exasperation lining his grin. "You kiss me, and _you_ don't understand? Only you, Merlin." He sweeps his thumbs over Merlin's knuckles, back and forth, gentle. "Alright, then. We'll do it this way. _Why_ did you kiss me? Hm? I assume it wasn't because I had something on my face."

Heat pours up into his ears, the sides of his neck. "No! I-I was…" Merlin closes his mouth, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood. He had kissed Arthur because he's wanted to kiss Arthur for years now, and he had been so close and so warm and smelled so good…. Even now, confused and embarrassed, he wants to press himself into Arthur's arms and hide his face in the bend of the man's neck.

"Merlin," the prince murmurs again, voice lowering another register. "I feel the same."

His heart leaps to his throat. "Feel?"

Arthur's body leans closer, head tilted forward slightly so their brows touch, breath warm on his face. "Yes, Merlin. Feel. More than I should ever feel for a servant, more than I should feel for _anyone._ Especially you." He nudges Merlin lightly. "I…I didn't want to say anything. I am still a prince. I didn't want you to feel…obligated."

His breath catches in his throat, and he tightens his grip around Arthur's hands, still tucked warm and callused around his own. "Since when do I follow your orders?" he asks, finding a snippet of levity even as his pulse races, hardly daring to believe what he's hearing. "You do recall that I can slip my skin and roast you crispy, right?"

Arthur outright laughs at that, one of those rare, full-throated laughs that tilts his head back and warms the air around him. "You know what? That's fair," he chortles. Smiling, he turns Merlin's hands over in his own, thumbs drawing slow circles on his palms. It's such a strange thing to feel so nice, but it makes warmth bloom in his belly and chest. "It shan't be easy," he warns, more solemn now. "We will have to be careful of Father."

He snorts at that, loud and rude in the quiet softness of the moment. "I'm already a warlock and a Dragonlord, Arthur. What's one more act of treason?"

"Fairly said." Arthur brings his hands up, kissing the inside of each wrist. "Well, your mother is not here, and I'd rather not be treated to Gaius's eyebrows, so I suppose I'll just ask you. May I court you, Merlin mine?"

He exhales a sharp breath as though he's just been taken a mace to the chest, but in the best possible way. His entire body feels warm and light and full, as though he could step from a high cliff and take flight without even slipping his skin, and Merlin pulls his hands from Arthur's grip so he can wind both arms around the prince's neck, tugging him forward into a kiss. And this time, he doesn't pull away because he doesn't _have to_ because Arthur _wants_ him, wants to kiss him and court him and _oh._ Merlin kisses him and kisses him, grasping at all that soft golden hair, feeling the solid heat of Arthur's body so close to him. It's even better than his fanciful daydreams, and that deep run of instinct is practically purring in satisfaction, the sound rumbling in his own chest because he finally, _finally_ has his treasure, his mate. His, all his.

The prince's arms go around him, one braced across the small of his back, the other hand splayed out between his shoulder blades, fingertips digging into his back. Arthur presses small, clumsy kisses to his cheek, panting in shallow gasps against his skin when they break apart for air, still clutching him tight. "You know, there's usually more courting before we get to this," he rasps out.

"Good thing I don't care how nobles court, then." The familiar smell of Arthur's skin is laced with threads of something sweet-spicy, deliciously tantalizing, and Merlin licks the soft spot below his ear to see how it tastes; Arthur gives a full-body shudder against him, the scent growing stronger. Smiling, he catches an ear between his teeth, biting gently.

"Oh, _God."_

Too easy. He stops nibbling and instead murmurs, "That's a bit formal. You can just call me Merlin."

"Oh, for the love of—shut _up,"_ Arthur chuckles, then tilts his head back to gaze up at him with unwonted solemnity. "May I?"

Merlin frowns in puzzlement, then realises he hadn't answered Arthur's question: _May I court you?_ Smiling, he rests his forehead against Arthur's, noses brushing. "Yes," he murmurs. "Yes and yes and yes."

"Yes," Arthur echoes back with a smile like the breaking of dawn, and leans in for another kiss.


End file.
